


The Silver War

by joliemariella



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, dbh fantasy au, lots of ships, not all the androids are golems, not to mention shenanigans cuz who doesn't like shenanigans, plenty of action
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 06:52:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16760131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joliemariella/pseuds/joliemariella
Summary: The nations of Corvalis and Tellencia have been at war off and on for generations, and after almost 20 years of peace, they're back at it again. This time however, the war is no longer being fought by mortal men and women, but by golems; artificial lifeforms made of clay and silver with no free will of their own. They never tire, never disobey, and have completely turned the traditional art of warfare on its head. Both sides threaten to bankrupt themselves buying ever increasing numbers of them to fill out the ranks of their armies from the tiny, though wealthy, elven nation of Asarahil. Hank Anderson, Grey Lord of Anders Peak and lieutenant in the Corvalian Royal Army wants nothing to do with golems or the complications they bring, but he finds himself saddled with an advanced prototype to train in the art of war at his commander's request anyways. When golems begin to stray from their posts, however, Hank and Connor are sent to investigate and find themselves swept up in a rebellion made up of not only golems, but disenfranchised peoples of all species just looking for a better, more peaceful life. (A series of short stories from many different perspectives. Not necessarily in chronological order.)





	The Silver War

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, welcome to my new DBH fantasy au fic!  
>  **Important:** This fic will basically be a series of short stories of varying lengths (generally on the longer side) from different points in the timeline of the war between Corvalis and Tellencia, not necessarily in chronological order. I will post a link to somewhere that will list everything in the 'right' order once I have more than one chapter up, though. No worries, though, you'll still be able to follow what's going on, I promise XD  
>   
>  **Words to know:**  
>  * Golem - artificial lifeforms made of clay and silver with no free will of their own (fantasy version of an android). Can be made to resemble any species.  
> * Caelian - winged humanoid race that can be found all over the world. Wings come in a wide variety of shapes and colors, like actual birds.

“My Lord Anderson, welcome. Please, come in.”

“Lieutenant will do,” Hank told the servant holding open the grand, arched doorway into Lady Havaric's manor for him. Use of his title always set his teeth on edge, and he was forced to shake the tension out of his gray wings before folding them along his back and stepping inside, Connor on his heels.

“Of course, Lieutenant,” the servant replied smoothly as he closed the door behind them. His gaze swept over Connor, who was taking in their lavish surroundings with mild curiosity, then said, “Your golem can wait here, if you like. It won't be in the way. Her Ladyship-”

“ _ His _ name is Connor,” Hank cut the man off sharply as he gave him a flat look that dared him to object. “And he goes where I go.”

The servant cast him a nervous look, his eyes darting briefly to Connor and then back again. The golem didn't react, though when he caught Hank's gaze, his mouth pulled up in the slightest of smiles. The lieutenant's perseverance in insisting that he be treated like a person continued to baffle him, though he was becoming accustomed to it at this point. Any attempts to reason with the caelian paladin fell on deaf ears, and not even a golem had the patience needed to wear him down.

Hank hadn't always insisted on treating him thus, of course. At the beginning, when Connor had first been assigned to him, the lieutenant had tried to be rid of him at every opportunity. Somewhere along the way, however, that had gradually changed, and now the golem found himself... appreciating Hank’s acceptance of his company. He doubted that was a standard reaction for a golem though, so he kept the feeling to himself.

Hank would probably just laugh at him anyways.

“I-” the servant started to say, but under the unyielding intensity of Hank's blue eyes, the man caved. “Of course, Lieutenant. Right this way, her Ladyship is waiting for you in the parlor.”

Hank and Connor followed the servant through richly decorated hallways and over plush carpeting that rendered the passing of their boots the softest of whispers until they reached a courtyard. The space was open to the sky overhead and walled in by the rest of the manor on all sides, though unlike a normal courtyard, there wasn't a pretty garden to be admired here; just a large pool of water surrounded by carefully placed rocks.

There was only a thin strip of lawn between the walkway and the body of water dominated the space and Hank thought it was a bit much for some koi until the figure sitting on a stone platform at the heart of the pond turned to look at him. At first glance he'd thought it was one of those painted statues that seemed in vogue with the nobility at the moment, but now he recognized the ‘sculpture’ for what it was.

A living, breathing merman.

The sight of visitors seemed to startle him, as he dove off his perch without warning and into the water with a flash of blue scales and golden hair.

“That was a merman,” Connor observed aloud as he came to a stop at Hank's side, seeming just as surprised as the paladin. “We're nearly one hundred miles from the ocean, he's very far from home,” he added with a small frown. The golem turned to the servant, who had stopped to wait for them, and asked, “Is he a guest of your Lady's?”

The man looked distinctly uncomfortable, shifting absently from foot to foot as his gaze strayed across the still rippling surface of the pond. “Of a sort,” he said eventually.

Connor was confused by the response, but Hank wasn't. After all, the paladin hadn't missed the band of enchanted silver around the merman's neck. “I don't think slaves count as guests, but maybe that's just me,” he drawled as he eyed the servant sidelong.

The other man's shoulders went tight and Hank knew he had the right of it. Beside him, the feathers of Connor's snowy wings bristled. “Slavery is illegal in Corvalis,” he pointed out as he looked down his long nose at the servant with suddenly disapproving brown eyes.

Normally the way the golem could go from inoffensive tag-along to opinionated contender amused Hank, but now he bumped him lightly with a dappled gray wing to put him in check.

The golem looked at him sharply, but Hank ignored him and told the servant, “Take us to your Lady, we have business to discuss.”

The man gave a relieved nod and motioned for them to follow once more. They did so, but Hank could feel righteous indignation rolling off Connor in waves, and the paladin wondered if the golem was bothered more by the idea of one sentient creature being owned by another, or the fact that their hostess was violating the law in doing so. When they'd first met, he could have confidently answered that it was the latter, but these days... Connor was changing, becoming a  _ person _ , whatever anyone else wanted to think on the matter; Hank could see it. So maybe... maybe it was the former, despite the irony considering he himself was a golem.

“Hank,” Connor said, voice low as they walked so only the lieutenant could hear him. “That merman-”

“We're not the law, Connor. We're the military, and we need this woman's support whether we like her or not,” Hank cut him off flatly before he could finish.

The golem's eyes widened at the reply and he almost tried to object, but caught himself when he noticed the unhappy furrow in Hank's brow and the steely glint in his blue eyes. His wings hadn't bristled the way Connor's had, but he had a feeling it was only through great effort that his gray feathers remained neatly in place. The paladin, he knew, wasn't any happier about the matter than he was, but Hank was right. They'd been sent to get Lady's Havaric's support, and that wouldn't go well if they opened with accusing her of keeping illegal slaves in her own home.

Even if it  _ was _ true.

Connor sighed and his wings sagged fractionally as Hank shot him a sympathetic look. However, no more was said on the matter as they were shown into a sunny, elegantly decorated parlor where a woman in a resplendent gown waited for them, hands folded neatly on her lap.

“Lieutenant Anderson of the Corvalian Royal Army to see you, my Lady,” the servant announced as they entered.

“Lieutenant, a pleasure to meet you,” Lady Havaric said and offered her hand to the paladin who took it, though stopped just shy of actually kissing it.

“Your Ladyship.”

XXX

Negotiations had gone well in the end, even if they'd gotten off to a rough start. Lady Havaric had tried to ignore Connor for nearly twenty minutes before the golem's pointed questions and input on the conversation, supported by Hank's silences as he waited for her to reply, forced the woman to include him. After hours of back-and-forth, though, they finally came to an agreement well within the bounds his superiors in the army had set for him, and they'd all retired for dinner.

The food had been good, he had to admit, but then with the kind of money the woman clearly had, Hank didn’t expect any less. Luckily, Lady Havaric had other guests besides himself at dinner, so he was left mostly in peace down at one end of the table, furthest from the noblewoman but for Connor. The golem had received more than a few looks from the other nobles, but after their host had waved off their concerns with an explanation that he belonged to ‘the dear Lieutenant’ who ‘couldn’t bear to be parted from him’, they’d mostly stopped. 

Granted, then they’d started whispering among themselves about Hank, but the paladin had been more than happy to ignore them.

Besides, there’d been something infinitely more interesting in the grand dining room to hold his attention than any of his fellow diners could hope to. 

An entire section of the wall across from him had been replaced by glass from floor to ceiling and looked out into water where a variety of colorful fish swam. Hank had thought it strange when they had gone downstairs from the ground level section of the manor to eat dinner, but now he realized why; the peculiar window opened into the pool of water from the courtyard overhead. The platform at its center, it turned out, was actually a pillar that reached to the bottom of the pool, though only now did he realize just how deep the water ran.

After dessert had been served and the table had been cleared in favor of coffee and tea, most of the guests mingled among themselves to talk while Hank made his way to the underwater window to admire the view.

As he stood in front of the glass, Hank performed the little mental twist to his vision that allowed him to see active magic, and blinked rapidly against the sudden onslaught of light. The window had been heavily reinforced with spellwork to let it bear up under the pressure of the water behind it, and in different company the paladin might have whistled his appreciation.

“Look, there he is,” Connor said as he joined the lieutenant.

Hank let his vision slip back to normal and glanced at the golem, who was craning his head to one side as he pointed up towards the surface of the pool a long ways overhead. A pale, graceful tail trailed in the water and they watched it for a minute. Just when Hank was about to turn away however, the fin shifted sharply as the merman dove into the pool once more and descended into the depths.

Wrong though the merman’s captivity was, Hank was aware of what a rare privilege it was to watch him swim from such an angle, particularly among caelians. Most of his species weren’t particularly fond of the water, difficult to move in as it was for them, so getting to see one of the merfolk swim so near and in such clarity was a gift.

He moved with an effortless grace that would make dancers jealous as he circled the walls of his prison. Hank had heard people say swimming was like flying through the water, but from his own intimate knowledge of flight, he knew they overstated. The merman moved in ways no airborn body could, supported by the water as he was, and it was a beautiful thing to behold.

“Can he see us?” one of the other guests asked and the paladin became aware that he and Connor were not alone at the window anymore; the entire party had joined them.

“Oh, no,” Lady Havaric answered with an idle wave of her folding fan. “It’s spelled to work in one direction; he just sees another wall like the rest.”

“I… that collar. I thought slavery was illegal in Corvalis,” a different guest, a young woman with a foreign look to her spoke up, shy but seemingly determined. Hank wanted to shake her hand.

“ _ Slavery _ ?” the lady of the manor said with an astonished laugh. “Oh dear, he’s not a  _ slave, _ ” the woman continued as she closed her fan with a snap and tapped the young woman on the arm with it, looking for all the world as though the girl had said something terribly funny and quaint. 

Hank arched a brow, wondering just how she was going to play it off to her guest. 

“He’s not a  _ person,  _ dear,” she drawled. “Merfolk aren’t  _ intelligent;  _ they’re practically animals!”

The paladin went rigid where he stood, hands tightening into fists at his sides as his wings began to bristle. Hank started to say something, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He looked around and found Connor looking at him with an expression of warning. He was learning again, the paladin realized with some annoyance, turning his own warning not to irritate the woman they so desperately needed to win the war against him.

Hank exhaled sharply and grit his teeth before turning away to watch the merman once more, feeling sick.

“Three years he’s been here and not so much as a peep out of him!” Lady Havaric said in response to something Hank had missed during his silent battle against the urge to reach out and cuff the woman. “The proof is in the pudding, I say.”

Hank and Connor retired to the rooms provided them for the night soon after. He hadn’t been looking forward to staying in the first place, but after what transpired in the dining room, the lieutenant was sorely tempted to leave early. Remembering how much effort he’d had to put in negotiating with Lady Havaric helped him resist the urge, however, so despite his still raging indignation, Hank forced himself to go to bed.

Unfortunately, as much as he longed for it, sleep did not come for the lieutenant, and he cursed the overly soft mattress and pillows for his predicament, tossing and turning in an effort to get comfortable. Eventually he gave up and dragged on his shirt, breeches, and boots, grabbed his bag with his smoking pipe and tobacco, then wandered out into the hall in hopes of finding a way outside. Luckily, Hank had always been blessed with a good sense of direction, and after only one wrong turn, found himself back in the courtyard.

The wide open space was bathed in the bright light of the nearly full moon, and the paladin took a moment to enjoy the view and the fresh air from where he stood in the doorway before pulling out his pipe and lighting it. The man settled in more comfortably, back pressed to the cool stone wall in the shadows, wings half-folded as he took his first pull on his pipe, then exhaled slowly, letting the breath and the smoke carry his irritability away.

A quiet splash drew Hank’s attention to the pool, and to his surprise he watched as the merman pulled himself up onto the platform and perched on the edge, tail trailing lazily in the water. The paladin couldn’t hear him sigh at that distance, but he  _ could  _ see the unsubtle rise and fall of his pale shoulders as he turned his gaze heavenward in seeming contemplation of the moon.

It felt rude, as though he were intruding on the merman, but with his pipe still over half-full, Hank didn’t feel inclined to yield the courtyard to him, not yet. He did, however, look away, despite the urge to watch the other man’s every move. Scales in a variety of blues glittered in the moonlight and silvery, gossamer fins practically glowed, making the effort not to stare difficult. 

Still, Hank managed for a time by turning his own eyes heavenward instead… until the merman began to sing quietly to himself.

_ ‘Three years he’s been here and not so much as a peep out of him!’ _

The lieutenant smiled around the stem of his pipe as the merman’s song lilted over the surface of the water to his ears. Showed what that wretched woman knew.

Hank’s eyes slipped halfway closed as the music washed over him. There seemed to be words, but he couldn’t make head nor tails of them, which was impressive since he could identify most languages by ear these days, if not necessarily understand them. Whatever they were, the sad tone of the song was obvious enough, language barrier or no, and Hank absently rubbed his chest in an unconscious attempt to soothe the sympathetic ache developing in his heart.

The song remained hushed, only barely audible from where Hank stood, and without thinking, he pushed away from the wall and stepped closer, filled with a sudden need to better hear it.

It was a mistake, he knew it was before he took the first step, but he took it anyways, followed by another, and a moment later, the wind changed, carrying a plume of smoke away from him and directly towards the merman. His voice died off as his nose caught the unfamiliar scent, then turned to look directly at Hank, bright blue eyes wide with horror when he saw him.

“Now hold on-” the paladin began, taking another quick step forward in hopes of easing the man’s panic, but too late. With a flash of scales, the merman disappeared into the water and out of sight, making Hank draw up short and heave a sigh of disappointment. “I’m not going to tell anyone,” he finished quietly as his gray wings sagged a little. He watched the water for a moment, then turned away and took another drag of his pipe, wishing he’d been able to reign himself in from interrupting the merman’s song.

Several feet below the surface, Simon lingered, heart beating a frightened tattoo behind his ribs, hands shaking. What would the stranger do, he wondered? Anything? Maybe not, it could be he didn’t know that the merman supposedly couldn’t talk, perhaps he wouldn’t think anything of the fact that he’d found him singing. He was a guest, after all, and not a familiar one; as long as he didn’t mention anything to that awful woman, he’d be alright.

Initial fears slowly fading, Simon found himself drawn closer to the surface where he could see the stranger still lingering near the pool’s edge, though his back was to the water now. He had wings, great, dappled gray ones he currently held half open in the moonlight as he watched the stars overhead with a distracted air, coils of blue-white smoke spilling occasionally from between his lips.

Against his better judgement, the merman darted behind the pillar, then slowly, silently, allowed the crown of his head all the way down to his nose to break the surface. Simon blinked water from his eyes, then sideled carefully sideways, hands pressed to the chill surfaced of the submerged stone until he was able to peer around its edge to watch the caelian.

He’d heard of them, of course, even seen them in the distance before, though this was his first time being so close to one. The other man’s hair was silver, falling past his chin in thick waves, though it was his wings that really held the merman’s interest. They were huge, even when folded, and Simon found himself overcome with a deep seated need to touch them, to know what the feathers felt like beneath his fingertips. Were they as soft as they looked, he wondered?

The pipe smoke reached his nose once more and the merman sniffed experimentally. He’d only caught the briefest whiff of it before, but now he could make out the sweetness of it, so different from the tobacco smoke his captor’s guests normally smoked. Curious and unable to resist after so long spent in isolation, Simon pushed away from the pillar and slid silently through the water to the edge of the pool. The lingering smoke was thicker here, and the merman inhaled deeply as he grabbed hold of one of the rocks that seperated the water from the lawn, eyes fluttering shut as he exhaled. 

It was sweet and warm with a pleasant heaviness that soothed Simon’s rattled nerves. 

The sense of peace didn’t last long, though, as when Simon opened his eyes a moment later it was to find the stranger watching him with surprised blue eyes. He hadn’t moved any closer, just turned to look at him, but it was enough to make the merman flinch back from the edge of the pool on reflex, panic returning.

“Hey now,” the caelian said as he held both hands up in front of him, as though to show he wasn’t a threat. “It’s alright, I’m not planning on telling that bitch a damn thing; I just came out for a smoke,” he said, voice low and calm as he waved his still smoking pipe a little.

Though the urge to dive deep and hide from sight was nearly overpowering, Simon hesitated. There was a gentleness to the man’s expression that gave him pause, and the caelian must have seen his hesitance because he smiled and gestured at the rocks lining the pool and asked, “Mind if I sit?”

The panicked jangling of his nerves slowly calming, Simon regarded the other man for a moment as he waited patiently, then shook his head.

“Thanks. That soft mattress was killing my back,” Hank remarked truthfully with a groan as he settled himself on one of the flatter rocks at the edge of the pool and tucked his large wings to either side so they wouldn’t dip into the water. Comfortable, he glanced back and saw that the merman still hadn’t fled, though he remained several feet away, submerged to just below his eyes, which watched him with a deep seated wariness. There was curiosity there too, though, and somehow Hank felt better seeing it, as if it were a confirmation that captivity hadn’t broken the merman’s spirit just yet. The lieutenant took a pull on his pipe, held the smoke a moment, and then released it into the air before saying, “I’m Hank.”

He didn’t ask for the merman’s name, deciding to give him the choice on whether or not to answer himself. His patience was rewarded a moment later when the merman rose a little higher in the water so he was exposed to the tops of his shoulders and said, “Simon.”

Hank’s mouth curled into a genuine, if lopsided, smile and he said, “Simon, huh? That’s a nice name.”

“Thank you, my mother gave it to me,” the merman replied with a wry twist of his mouth, though underneath it he was surprised at his own joke. His first time speaking to someone in three years and that was the first thing he said?

Luckily, rather be than offended, Hank laughed outright, though he quickly stifled it and glanced around, hoping he hadn’t drawn any outside attention. They were both silent for a moment as they waited for a servant to come investigate, but when no one did, the caelian looked back down at Simon, grin widening, and said, “Alright, maybe I deserved that.”

It was a nice smile, the merman thought as he moved closer to the edge of the pool. It was kind and full of good humor, with just a little gap between his two front teeth that leant it an earnest sort of charm. It was the sort of smile you couldn’t help but reciprocate and Simon found the corners of his lips curling up in spite of himself.

The sight made Hank’s heart flutter unexpectedly and he blinked once before turning his attention back to his pipe to distract himself. Unfortunately, it’d gone out, so the lieutenant was forced to light it again, but after a moment things were back in working order and the caelian was able to take a lung full of smoke, then exhale it in a long, soothing sigh.

The sweet scent rolled through the air between them and Simon found himself inhaling again, finally drawn in close enough to place his hands on the rocks again to save him the effort of treading water. “I’ve never smelled tobacco like that before,” the merman commented.

Hank looked down at him and raked his fingers distractedly through his heavy silver curls, pushing them back from his face as he asked, “It bothering you?”

Simon immediately shook his head and shifted up a little more so he could prop an elbow on the rocky edge of the pool and rest his cheek against his hand. “No, I like it. It’s… sweet. Warm, even.”

The caelian nodded. “Yeah, they grow it down in Yan Vallanor. First had it years ago when I originally joined the army as a kid and haven’t been able to enjoy Corvalian tobacco ever since,” he explained with a chuckle.

Simon’s eyes lit up with curiosity at the mention of the southern nation. “I’ve never been,” the merman admitted before adding, “It’s not very close to the ocean,” with a rueful smile.

Hank’s lips quirked up at one side in sympathy, though his gaze was solemn as he considered the merman for a long moment. “Neither are we, at the moment.” A sigh escaped Simon at the statement and he looked away, a furrow developing in his brow though he made no comment. “How’d Havaric get her hands on you?” Hank asked when the silence hanging between them began to strain.

The merman glanced at him sidelong from under the dark sweep of his lashes then away again. Eventually, though, he said, “That woman has a pleasure boat she likes to take down to the coast on occasion. I rescued one of her people when they fell overboard, but when they took him back on board, they took me too.” Simon’s expression darkened and he tugged at the silver collar around his neck with a clawed fingertip, briefly exposing the pale, scarred skin beneath it before he continued, “Then they brought me back here, and here I’ve been ever since.”

Hank could sense that there were more, possibly worse, details to the story, but he didn’t press the merman. He hadn’t expected him to share as much as he did.

Simon gave himself a shake and when he looked at Hank again, the darkness in his eyes had been put carefully away and he asked, “What brings you here?” A teasing smile pulled at the merman’s lips as he leaned his cheek against his hand again and said, “I’m guessing she’s not a friend of yours.”

Hank almost choked on a lungful of smoke at the statement as he tried not to laugh and Simon found his smile widening, eyes crinkling at the corners as the caelian fought to get himself under control without waking anyone. Speaking the way they were brought a warmth to the merman’s heart he hadn’t felt since the day he’d been taken from the sea, and it took everything in him not to think about the pain he’d inevitably feel when Hank left and he was alone once more.  _ ‘Enjoy it while you can,’  _ he told himself firmly.

“No, definitely not,” Hank said when he could breathe again. His pleasant baritone a little rough from the coughing, though still just as wonderful to listen to. The caelian sighed and stretched his wings absently before settling them again, missing the way Simon’s eyes followed the movement, fascinated by the subtle shift of muscle and feather as they did. “I was sent here by the Royal Army to beg for funding so we can keep the troops fed,” the lieutenant drawled, expression gone sour. “Or to buy more golems, more likely,” he added with a huff. “The brass seems to think nobility will be more likely to listen me so… here I am.”

“Did they?” Simon asked, head canted to one side so he could better watch the other man’s face.

“Did they what?” Hank asked as he looked back at him again.

“Listen to you,” the merman clarified with a chuckle.

“Ah,” the lieutenant replied, distracted briefly by the pleasance of the merman’s laugh. “Uh, yeah, actually,” he admitted with a grimace. “Eventually, anyways.”

Simon smiled up at him, tail flicking idly behind him in the water. “Seems like they sent the right person then,” he pointed out, though the caelian just snorted and scratched absently at his beard to cover his conflicted emotions on the subject.

“Yeah, guess so.”

Silence settled over them again, though this time it was comfortable, rather than strained as they both contemplated the pale moon overhead.

“Would you… would you tell me about some of the places you’ve been?” Simon asked eventually, unable to keep the hopeful expression from his features as he looked up at Hank with big, earnest, blue eyes that almost seemed to glow in the moonlight.

Any surprise Hank might have felt at the question died as quickly as it flared when he recognized the agonized loneliness lingering in the other man’s gaze. His long imprisonment hadn’t broken him yet, but he was close, the caelian realized; so very close.

“If you come sit up here so I don’t have to strain my neck,” Hank answered as he patted the rock next to him, tone kept intentionally light to save the merman the embarrassment of realizing the lieutenant had recognized his desperation for what it was. He knew that look. He’d felt that pain after…

Simon’s expression fell and he sank back into the water some at Hank’s request. “I can’t,” he admitted, then lifted a hand and appeared to reach for the man, only for his palm to fetch up against an invisible barrier.

Surprised that he hadn’t noticed it sooner, the caelian twisted his vision for the second time that night and found that there was, indeed, a wall between the two of them, dividing the rocky barrier so only a few inches of space were available on the merman’s side. As the paladin examined the ward, he noted that it wasn’t just to keep Simon in, it was to keep others out.

“Ah,” he said and Simon sank further beneath the water so only his eyes were exposed, brow furrowed in disappointment when Hank got to his feet and stretched, believing the caelian was about to leave. Instead, the paladin took a seat on the grass and leaned against the rocks, taking a moment to arrange his wings and make himself comfortable. “I’ve been most places Corvalis shares a border with, and a few beyond that,” he said nonchalantly as he refilled his pipe. “Anywhere in particular you want to hear about?”

The look of disbelief that shifted into one of dawning delight on Simon’s face was almost painful to behold for Hank as the merman pushed himself up as far onto the rocks as he could once more. He had just enough space to lift up onto his elbows, exposing him nearly to the waist. “Yan Vallanor. I’ve heard the king’s castle has towers made of gold; does it?”

Hank grinned around the stem of his pipe.

* * *

Hours passed. Hank burned through his stash of tobacco without even realizing it and nearly talked himself hoarse as he filled Simon’s ears with stories and descriptions of far off lands. The merman was far too easy to talk to, even for someone like Hank, who never had been the talkative sort. He’d always been the one to listen and save his words for when they mattered; people that filled the air with idle chatter irritated him, and yet he spent the entire night rambling about his travels without a second thought.

It was probably the way Simon watched him while he talked, hanging off his every word. He interrupted occasionally with intelligent, insightful questions about this detail or that, leading to intriguing tangents that could take ten or more minutes to come back from. Not that Hank minded the distraction, sprinkled as it was with humorous observations from one or both of them as the paladin discovered the merman’s wry sense of humor. Talking to Simon kept Hank on his toes and forced him to muffle a laugh on more than one occasion, which was more than he could say for the majority of people he talked to day-to-day.

Eventually, though, the moon set and the conversation petered off as reality slowly reasserted itself, invading the little world they had constructed for themselves to pass the night in. It would be dawn soon; already the servants were likely beginning to stir in their quarters, preparing to start their day.

“The sun will be up soon,” Simon said into the quiet that hung between them. It was dark now, truly dark in the brief window between moonset and sunrise, rendering Hank little more than a shadowed silhouette. He was so close, the merman thought, and yet he might as well have been on the moon for all he could reach out to the caelian. He did so anyways, pale hand coming to rest against the barrier that separated them as took a breath and said, “You should go.”

There was a soft, silk sigh of feathers as the caelian’s wings shifted restlessly and a thoughtful hum escaped him. Hank shifted his vision again, and the light of the magic between them allowed the lieutenant to make out the merman’s features as clearly as if the moon had wound itself back in the sky.

Tears were rolling silently down Simon’s cheeks and he made no move to wipe them away, mistakenly confident in the night’s ability to hide them from his companion.

It was a beautiful, heartbreaking sight, and in that moment, Hank came to a decision.

“If I could get you to the river, would you be able to make it back home?”

“What?” Simon asked, doubting his own ears as Hank shifted forward and pressed his hand against the barrier so their palms were separated by only a thin film of magic. Maybe he was only imagining it, but the merman swore he could feel the warmth of the other man’s skin through the ward. It sent a shiver down his spine and he pulled his own back as a deep, physical ache threatened to shake him further than the caelian’s words already had. 

“The river,” Hank repeated, fingers curling into a fist against the barrier. “It’s less than five miles from here and runs all the way to the sea. If I could get you to it, would you be able to make it?”

Simon’s mouth opened and closed as he struggled for a response, sinking back into the water as he reeled. Was he offering to help him escape? Truly? Surely this was too good to be true; first, an impossibly pleasant evening spent in the company of a kind, patient man willing to indulge his craving for word of the outside world… and now this?

Maybe he really had gone mad in this cage and it was all a part of his imagination.

“ _ Simon _ ,” Hank called, voice soft but intense in a way that sent a shiver up the merman’s spine and made him gasp a breath as he realized he’d forgotten to breathe.

“Yes,” the merman said, surging forward in the water so he could lift himself onto the rocks as far as he could once more. “And even if I can’t,” he continued, words desperate yet vehement, “Hank, I’d rather die a free man than spend another day in this prison.”

He pressed a hand to the barrier again, and Hank matched him. “We’re out of time tonight, and I can’t risk undoing the work I’ve done here with Havaric,” he explained quietly. “I’m leaving in the morning,” a soft huff escaped him and he glanced skyward. “Better make that in a few hours,” he shook his head and pressed on, “I’ll come back tomorrow night, after dark.”

“I-” Simon began before his words failed him. He wasn’t sure what to say. What  _ could _ he say?

A sound in the distance made Hank’s head snap around, eyes narrowed as he listened hard. After a moment, he turned back to Simon and said, “Act normal until then. I’ll be back, I promise.”

With that, he flared his wings and gave them a single beat, launching him backwards into the air, just far enough to carry him to the door through which he’d originally arrived. The wind of his going made Simon throw up a hand to protect his eyes from the dust the caelian’s wings had kicked up, and by the time they’d cleared, Hank was gone.

* * *

Acting ‘normal’ the following day was a struggle for the merman. Hank and his companion left a few hours later, and it was a battle to resist the urge to watch them go. In the end, he failed, though only in a small way. Simon didn’t dare lift himself onto the platform, but he did peer cautiously over the pool’s edge once he was certain they were nearing the far entrance to the courtyard. It allowed him a brief glimpse of Hank’s back and the flash of morning sun off of polished armor before he and Connor disappeared from sight.

Simon was a bundle of nerves and anxieties for the rest of the day, and it was everything he could do not to swim rapid circles around the perimeter of his prison. It felt smaller than ever, somehow, as if the promise of freedom were making the walls shrink in on the merman in hopes of smothering him before he could escape.

_ If  _ he escaped.

It was a thought that plagued him incessantly from sunrise to sunset and into the dark of the night. What if Hank didn’t return for him? What if they were caught? What if he’d imagined it all and worse than being forgotten, the promise had never been made at all?

As the hours past and the moon rose and then began to set again, Simon found himself sitting on the platform at the center of the pool shredding a length of the seaweed that grew at the floor of his prison. He needed something to keep his hands busy before the riotous thoughts in his mind finally drove him mad…

The soft whistle of wind through feathers reached the merman’s delicately pointed ears and dragged his gaze from the rapidly disintegrating plant in his hands to the sky overhead. A silhouette passed between him and the stars, barely discernible in the dark, but as it resolved into a large, winged figure, Simon felt as if his heart had jumped up into his mouth. The merman watched as the figure back-winged, then landed gracefully on the narrow strip of grass at a brisk jog to slow his forward momentum, bringing him to a stop at the edge of the pool.

Feeling almost faint with relief at the sight of the caelian, Simon half-dove, half- fell into the water and rushed for the edge of the pool, hauling himself as far out as the magical barrier separating them would allow. “Hank,” he gasped. “You came back. Oh,  _ you came back, _ ” Simon whispered as tears began to fall unnoticed down his cheeks to blend with the water that cascaded off of him.

Hank shushed him gently as he mantled his wings and crouched before the merman. “It’s alright,” he said, heart aching at the desperate picture Simon painted and hating that he’d made him wait. “I’m here. I’m going to get you out, like I promised,” he said, voice low but vehement.

A soft, heart breaking laugh escaped Simon, and even he couldn’t tell if it was from sheer joy at the lieutenant’s words, or disbelief that he could possibly fulfill his promise.

“How,” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, more terrified than ever at being discovered. Half-out of the water as he was, Simon couldn’t lift a hand, but he did let his head drop forward so his brow rested against the barrier. He should have asked the night before, would have warned Hank of the difficulties if their time hadn’t run out so abruptly.

“Hey, I’m not just a pretty face, you know,” Hank joked and it was enough to drag a huff of a laugh from the merman even as the caelian took another, closer look at the barrier proper.

As he’d suspected, while it did extend almost seven feet into the air, it had no roof, meaning getting in and out would be anything but difficult for a caelian such as himself. On the other hand, it would make it more likely for anyone investigating Simon’s disappearance or supposed theft to narrow down possible culprits to a caelian suspect…

“Hank, it’s not just the barrier you have to worry about,” Simon said as he sank back into the water so he could use one hand to trace the silver collar around his throat. “It’s this too. It suppresses my magic and binds me to the property,” he explained, remembering the day it had first clicked into place around his neck three years before.

“One step at a time,” Hank said gently, his calm and confidence a balm to the merman’s nerves as the caelian took several steps back toward the wall, then ran and jumped into the air with a powerful downbeat of his wings that carried him almost straight up.

Simon watched, eyes wide with surprise and awe as he soared gracefully overhead, then back-winged rapidly so he landed in a crouch on the platform in the center of the pool. The merman could only stare at him as Hank half-folded his wings, carefully lifting them so his pinions wouldn’t trail in the water, then turned and beckoned him forward with a wave of a hand.

The knowledge that he was suddenly within arms reach of someone for the first time in three years left Simon dizzy and breathless, frozen at the water’s edge as he stared, almost uncomprehending at the caelian kneeling just a few feet away.

“Simon,” Hank called, voice barely above a whisper as he beckoned again. 

The sound of his name was enough to pull the merman from his shock and slowly, he pushed off the wall and swam unsteadily towards the platform. Hank offered him his hand, and Simon startled back, as though afraid he might be burned. The caelian waited patiently, however, as he came to realize just what the gesture meant for the merman, and broke into a smile when Simon finally accepted it with his own, trembling hand.

Hank helped the other man up onto the platform with a careful tug, and didn’t object when Simon did not immediately release his grip. The merman stared at their joined hands, breathing high and rapid, heart pounding as he relished the warmth of the contact. The paladin’s hand was large and calloused, strong but gentle where it folded around his own, and when Hank gave it a reassuring squeeze, Simon felt something break deep within him and he began to shake.

A small, choked sob escaped the merman, and before it could turn into a helpless wail, Hank used his grip on Simon’s hand to drag him in against his chest. “Shh, I’ve got you,” the caelian murmured as the merman froze at the sudden contact, and then sagged bonelessly against him so Hank had to wrap both his arms around his dripping figure to keep him upright.

“I’m sorry,” Simon gasped as he tried and failed to get himself under control, tears running freely down his face even as he slipped one arm up around Hank’s neck and clutched at the front of his tunic with the hand of the other.

He knew it was a terrible imposition, throwing himself at the caelian the way he was, but after so long spent alone, the feel of another body against his own was like food to a starving man.

Hank bore with it patiently, certain knowledge that he was likely the first person Simon had touched since he was first imprisoned rendering him unwilling to judge the merman. His clothes were quickly becoming soaked, and he had to fan his wings to stay upright more than once as the merman folded himself up against him, but he didn’t object. “It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Hank told him, vaguely embarrassed, but determined not to show he was being affected by the emotional display. 

Simon smelled of the salt sea, and strangely, not at all of fish. The skin of his back where Hank’s hands rested as he held him close was soft as silk, cool to the touch, and particularly slick where it changed transitioned into fine, silvery-blue scales. He didn’t dare let his hands run lower towards his hips where the proper scales of his tail began, but from such a close vantage point, he realized they looked quite heavy, almost armored.

Slowly, Simon began to calm, and while he maintained his hold on him, Hank pulled back a little and said, “Let me get a look at that collar.”

Reluctantly, the merman began to pull away, but when Hank’s grip on him didn’t loosen, he allowed himself to relax into him again. He shouldn’t, Simon knew that, but what little willpower he had to resist faded when he felt Hank’s fingers brush lightly across the golden-blond hair at the nape of his neck, guiding him to his head to one side so he could see the silver band around his neck.

Simon’s soft sigh at Hank’s gentle touch tickled the caelian’s neck in a highly distracting fashion, but he ignored it in favor of focusing his attention on the collar. The magic within it, he noted, was powerful stuff, and required an enchanted key to remove. Someone well versed in locking and binding magic might have stood a chance at undoing it without, but Hank’s skills had always lay elsewhere.

Luckily for them, he had a trump card.

Like all anointed paladins, Hank served a divinity, a goddess long worshipped by caelians the world over. After all he had been through, however, the lieutenant rarely called on his patron to make use of her power, and it’d been a long time since he’d last prayed. It had been so long since he had last called on her, in fact, that the paladin wondered if she would even answer.

His only hope, really, was that his goddess’ notorious distaste for slavery would carry the day and inspire her to lend her aid where she might otherwise have turned a deaf ear to his pleas. 

“Hold very still,” Hank murmured to Simon as he slid his other hand up his back and gently hooked his fingers through the silver band. The merman inhaled sharply at the sensation then fell still in his arms but for a subtle tightening of his fingers where they tightened around the fabric of his tunic.

Hank took a breath, then closed his eyes and prayed, mouth moving silently, forming the words without actually speaking them aloud into the night.

_ I don’t ask this for me,  _ he begged silently of his patron once he’d completed his formal prayer for aide.  _ Do it for this innocent who was punished with captivity for saving a life. Do it to right a wrong; do it because a creature meant to travel the entire ocean is as ill-suited to captivity as one that travels the sky. _

The paladin bowed his head and took a deep breath as he brought his wings in close around them both, enveloping Simon in their warmth as if to shield the merman from the world.

_ Do it because it’s the  _ **_right fucking thing to do_ ** _. _

Hank pulled against the collar and a familiar power that was not his own roared through him and into the band of silver, snuffing out the paltry mortal magic therein like a candle before a gale. There was a soft click, and the collar came undone, sliding away from Simon’s neck in the paladin’s fingers.

The merman jolted at the sensation, nearly knocking Hank off balance so he had to fan his wings to save them from toppling backwards into the pool. Simon used his grip on the paladin to tug him back upright and they wound up nose-to-nose as Hank dropped to both knees on the cold, wet stone. Stable once more, the merman curled his tail behind him as he released his hold on the lieutenant, both hands going to the blessedly bare skin at his throat.

Simon’s eyes fluttered shut as he tried and failed to stop another wave of tears when his fingers trailed over the scars the silver had left behind. Some of the fresher ones itched, still healing from where the skin had been rubbed raw, and it was a fight not to scratch them with the claws that adorned his fingers. 

“Can I?”

The merman opened his eyes again to see Hank reaching towards him, palm outstretched as he waited for permission to touch. Simon wasn’t sure as to his intent, but after what he’d done, the paladin could have slipped a blade between his ribs into his heart and he would have thanked him for letting him die free. 

He dropped his hands and tilted his head in silent invitation, watching through half-lidded eyes as Hank reached forward and proceeded to press his palm against the scarred tissue of his neck. A soft, golden light bloomed there and Simon’s eyes went wide in surprise as a warmth washed over him and eased the lingering pain and irritation in the skin.

The healing magic faded after a moment and Hank withdrew his hand with a rueful smile. “Sorry,” he told Simon as the merman’s fingers returned to the spot and traced the scar. “Can’t fix what’s already healed, but...”

“No,” Simon said quickly, meeting his eyes. “Thank you, Hank, it feels much better.”

Hank nodded, then held up the collar he’d removed and examined it briefly before noticing that the merman was watching him very intently. After a moment, the paladin offered it to him, and Simon accepted the terrible thing, turning it over and over in his hands, expression darkening.

When he went to throw it in the water, however, Hank grabbed his wrist to stop him. Simon scowled when he looked back at the lieutenant, though the expression quickly softened when the caelian explained, “I need to destroy that. If they find it and are able to pick up the magic I used on it-”

He let his words peter off, but he didn’t need to finish for the merman to understand. With a sigh, he handed to collar back to Hank, who hooked it onto his belt to be dealt with later. That done, the paladin pushed back up into a crouch and held out his arms, “Alright, you ready to get out of here?”

“I thought you’d never asked,” Simon said, his attempt at humor falling a little flat when tears began to well at the corners of his eyes again. 

Hank did him the courtesy of pretending not to notice, and instead, busied himself slipping one arm around the merman’s back, and the other under his tail. Simon threw his arms around the paladin’s neck, holding on tight as the caelian rose carefully to his feet.

“Shit!” Hank swore, low but emphatic when he nearly dropped Simon before he could even begin to position for takeoff. The merman wasn’t particularly heavy, but his tail was  _ slick,  _ making it difficult to keep a hold of him. 

Seeing the problem and realizing that, without his collar, he had a solution, Simon brightened and said, “Wait.” Hank shot him a quizzical look, but the merman’s eyes were closed, brow furrowed in concentration as his tail began to glow gently, then change all in one go. When the pale light faded, the paladin was holding what looked to be a very handsome, and extremely nude, half-elf. 

“Oh,” Hank said, a little dumbfounded. “I uh… forgot you people could do that.” He’d heard rumors, of course, but it wasn’t something most merfolk were fond of doing, supposedly. 

“When we have to,” Simon said with a rueful smile as he and Hank looked down his legs to his feet, where he wiggled his toes experimentally. 

They were awfully nice legs, Hank had to admit.

Giving himself a mental shake as he cleared his throat, the paladin shifted his hold on Simon to accommodate his new, easier to handle shape, then crouched and said, “Alright, hang on,” before springing upward and launching them into the air.

It took everything in Simon not to yelp as he clutched reflexively at Hank, but it was over before it had even properly begun when the caelian landed on the lawn just beyond the pool.

“What are we doing?” the merman asked, blinking against the dizziness that came with his first, brief flight. He wobbled a little when Hank carefully put him on his feet, and Simon kept hold of the lieutenant for a moment until he found his balance, just long enough for him to register the warmth of the other man’s hands on his back and hip. 

“Covering our tracks,” Hank said simply as he stepped aside and approached the pool once more as he pulled a hammer from his belt.

Simon hadn’t noticed it before, but then, he hadn’t really been looking at the paladin’s apparel, either. The tool was about the size of a blacksmith’s hammer, though even the merman’s limited knowledge of such things told him the head was all wrong. It had a sharp, curved spike on one side, the kind meant for piercing and prying, and the handle was bound in sturdy looking dark leather. The paladin gave it a practiced twirl, and suddenly the handle was as long as Hank’s arm with a head to match; a warhammer the merman doubted he’d even be able to lift, let alone wield. 

Hank glanced back over his shoulder at Simon as he stood there, watching with curious blue eyes, and had to fight not to flush. The other man seemed completely unabashed by his nudity, but then, the paladin supposed he was just as naked now as he’d been five minutes ago as a merman. “We’re uh-” he began then cleared his throat awkwardly and tried again, “we’re gonna be leaving out of here in a hurry. There’s probably an alarm attached to this barrier somewhere, so… be ready.”

Simon nodded, then watched as Hank squared up to the edge of the pool and gave his warhammer another distracted twirl, an impressive feat with its sheer weight, then gripped the handle tight in both hands. When he swung, it appeared to the merman that the head of the hammer connected with the air itself, which strained briefly before the paladin’s onslaught, then sagged and shattered with the noise of a thousand windows breaking all at once.

He didn’t even have time to cover his ears at the riot of noise as Hank shrank his weapon again, then slipped it into his belt and ran straight at Simon. The merman threw his arms wide and the caelian grabbed him up, keeping his forward momentum going in the process without missing a stride. The force of it drove the air from Simon’s lungs, but he wrapped his arms right around Hank and bit back a shout as the man launched them both into the air with a clap of his massive wings.

This time, they didn’t come immediately back down, but kept going higher and higher so the manor in which Simon had spent so long a captive shrank away beneath them, the lanterns scattered about the grounds turning to little pricks of golden starlight.

The merman watched the earth fall away, and though the sight left him dizzy, he couldn’t bring himself to look away until the miserable place fell out of view. When it had, his gaze went to the massive span of Hank’s dappled wings as they beat around them, wind whistling softly through his pinions as Simon grinned and tightened his grip a little on the caelian.

“They’re beautiful!” he said as he let his eyes drop to Hank’s face, words making the caelian cast him a curious look.

“What are?”

“Your wings!”

Hank’s eyebrows shot up and he laughed, embarrassed by the unexpected compliment. “Uh, thanks,” he replied, voice gruff.

“Why did you destroy the barrier?” Simon asked after a moment spent watching the shadowed ground pass beneath them, and the starry sky overhead. “They probably wouldn’t have noticed I was gone for hours if you hadn’t.”

The paladin glanced at the merman sidelong, but there was no reproach in his words or his expression, just curiosity. “If I hadn’t, it would have made it easier for them to figure out that someone capable of flight most likely stole you. And with me and Connor both there yesterday-”

“You’d be prime suspects,” Simon finished, understanding his thinking now. “But since the barrier was broken,  _ anyone  _ might have done it,” he continued and Hank nodded. “That was very clever,” the merman said with a smile.

“I have my moments,” the lieutenant said with a huff of amusement, determinedly ignoring the flush try to crawl up his neck to his cheeks.

The trip to the river wasn’t long by air, and before Simon knew it, they were coming in for a landing on an expanse of clear, rocky shore. It was a bit rougher than the ones he’d witness Hank make earlier in the evening, but then, he hadn’t been working with a haphazard armful of merman at the time either.

They made it in one piece, though it took some quick footwork on Hank’s part not to stumble over the smooth, round river rocks at the water’s edge as he came to a stop. As he gently put Simon back on his feet, a moment of quiet fell between them and a cool breeze rolled across the river. Without thinking, Hank unfurled a wing and brought it around to shield Simon, just shy of actually touching him with it.

The merman glanced at the expanse of dappled feathers and longed to run his fingers down them once more, but refrained, fearing it would be unwelcome, or taboo somehow. He’d simply have to content himself with the memory of their warmth around him in that long moment before Hank had removed his collar. 

“I hardly know how to thank you,” Simon said as he looked at Hank and met his eyes, expression pained and earnest at this admission. “I-”

“You don’t have to try,” Hank said quickly. “I just… I was just doing what was right.”

Simon opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it, and sighed as he regarded the paladin with a rueful smile. “I know,” he said eventually. “That just makes it all the more impressive, really.”

A sound of consternation escaped the paladin and he frowned at the merman, who only chuckled as he straightened the man’s tunic for him. The fabric was still quite damp, but at least he could tug the wrinkles he’d left from clutching at it free. “That’s not-” Hank began, but Simon just glanced at him from under his lashes, an almost impish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and it was enough to silence the caelian. As a lieutenant, he knew a losing battle when he saw one.

Instead of objecting further, Hank just sighed, then reached back and started to undo the ties at the side of his tunic, which had been specially tailored, like all of his clothes, to accommodate his wings. “Here, you should take it,” he told simon. “I’ve got others.”

“No, it’s alright,” the merman said, reaching out and gently taking the man’s hand to stop him from tugging at the laces. “It’ll only slow me down,” he explained with a nod back to the river, though he was clearly touched by the offer. First Hank had shown him the kindness of keeping him company for an evening, then he’d set him free… and now, here he was, offering him the shirt off his own back.

Hank paused, then let Simon take his hand, weighing the honesty of the merman’s words and deciding he wasn’t just saying it to be polite. If he’d thought about it for more than a few seconds, he would have seen that himself, and the realization made him grimace a little as he ran a restless hand through his hair. An idea occurred to him then, however, and his expression lightened.

“Here, at least take this then,” Hank said as he reclaimed his hand from Simon and reached beneath his shirt and produced a heavy silver pendant on a leather cord. Without waiting for an answer, the paladin looped it over the merman’s head and let the pendant drop to hang in the center of his chest.

Simon blinked in surprise, then lifted the pendant so he could get a better look at it. It was almost two inches across and looked like a circle someone had taken and begun to pinch into three segments before thinking better of it, edges decorated in intricate, curling whorls. At the center was an unfamiliar sigil of some sort, and the whole thing felt warm to the touch, and not just from having lain so long against Hank’s skin. In fact, the longer he held it in his palm, the more convinced he became that it was  _ humming.  _

A more plainly magical object Simon did not think he had ever held.

“Hank, I couldn’t possibly,” the merman said and tried to lift the cord free of his neck. “It’s far too valuable, I-”

“ _ Keep it, _ ” the paladin said, reaching out with his hands to grasp Simon’s and prevent him from giving back the necklace. 

His voice and his expression both brooked no argument, and after a moment, the merman sighed and nodded as he allowed the pendant to hang against his skin once more. The buzz of its magic was oddly comforting, and without thinking, he placed one hand over it to press it close. 

“Just… think of it like a lucky charm,” Hank mused with one of his lopsided smiles.

Simon sighed, though he smiled in turn, even if it was a bit rueful. He wanted to chastise the man for his generosity after everything he’d already done for him, but the merman knew by now that it wouldn’t make a difference, so he saved his breath. “Thank you,” he said instead, and this time the paladin didn’t try to refuse his gratitude.

Hank watched as Simon took a step back, fingers playing over the silver pendant as he did, and the caelian withdrew his wing, allowing it to fold along his back. “Be careful out there,” he said as the merman turned his back towards him, just shy of the water’s edge now.

Simon paused, and seemed to come to a decision in that moment. Before he could second guess himself, the merman turned and quickly closed the distance between himself and Hank once more. Before the other man could do more than blink in confusion, Simon gripped the front of his tunic once more and dragged him in for a kiss.

A small noise of surprise escaped Hank when Simon’s lips crashed unexpectedly against his own, soft, warm, and insistent. He only lingered a moment, just long enough for the paladin to exhale, eyelids fluttering closed as, against his better judgement, he allowed himself to relish the contact. When they broke, Simon lingered close, fingers still knotted in the fabric of Hank’s shirt, not quite brave enough to meet his gaze as he murmured, “May you be blessed with smooth seas, wherever the current takes you.”

The words carried a weight that Hank didn’t quite comprehend, but he didn’t have a chance to ask as the merman released his grip on him, then took a running dive into the river. The paladin took a few steps after him on reflex, but stopped shy of the water and watched the roiling, rushing surface for a sign. He got it a moment later as a blue scaled tail briefly broke the surface, then disappeared out of sight once more.

The breath left Hank all at once and he pushed a stray strand of silver hair back from his face as he stared out across the water and murmured, “Yeah, you too.”

* * *

When he arrived back at the inn he and Connor had stopped at earlier that evening, Hank circled once before landing in the empty stableyard. He took a moment to stretch the tension from his shoulders, lifting his arms over his head as he spread his gray wings out to their widest, then relaxed both with a sigh. The sun would be up in a few hours, making it the second night in a row he’d be getting only a few hours of sleep, but the lieutenant didn’t regret it in the slightest.

Smiling a little to himself, Hank glanced around to double check that he was, in fact, alone, then moved quietly towards the blacksmith shop attached to the stables. 

Upon reaching it, though, the lieutenant hesitated as he registered that the forge within was not only lit, but there was someone standing in front of it. It was too early for the blacksmith to be up, which meant someone  _ else  _ had taken over the man’s work space for who knew what purpose… the fact that he wasn’t the only one looking to do exactly that put the caelian on edge.

Eyes narrowed, Hank entered quietly, but was brought up short when he realized that he recognized the person standing in front of the warm glow of the forge.

“Connor, the hell are you doing in here?” Hank asked as he straightened from the half-crouch he’d dropped into.

The golem turned and looked at him, carefully neutral expression impossible to read. “I asked the blacksmith to show me how to work his forge after you retired early for the evening and he was kind enough to teach me,” Connor replied enigmatically.

“Uh-huh,” Hank replied skeptically as he moved closer and came to stand next to his companion, brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle out the golem’s true intent. “And what’d you want to know something like that for?”

Connor tilted his head to one side and appeared to consider his answer for a moment before giving it. “Smithing is an important skill,” he said. “Being able to work metal, reshape it, melt it down...” the golem’s eyes dropped to Hank’s belt and the lieutenant realized he was looking directly at Simon’s slave collar. “These are all very  _ useful  _ things to know,” he continued casually, then asked, “Do you know how to work a forge, Lieutenant?”

Hank was quiet for a moment as amusement warred with concern within him. Connor had seen right through his intentions this evening, it seemed, but rather than chastise him, it seemed the golem wanted to help. Not an entirely surprising development considering his reaction to seeing Simon the day before, and yet…strange for a creature that supposedly had no free will or agency of its own.

“Yeah,” Hank replied. “Yeah I do.”

Connor smiled, just a slight lift of the right corner of his lips as he gestured towards the forge and asked, “Perhaps you’d be willing to teach me as well?”

Hank watched the golem a moment longer before a huff of amusement escaped him and his mouth twisted into a wry smile as he pulled the slave collar off his belt. “Sure, why not,” he said. “I think I’ve got just the thing to practice on.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Make sure to drop a review and let me know what your favorite part was, I love hearing that from you guys!  
> Also check out my art/writing [tumblr](https://joliemariella.tumblr.com/) for art I've done for this series under the 'dbh fantasy au' tag!


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